


Finding The Ones You Lost

by Moonlight22oa



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aromantic Jean Prouvaire, Barricade Day, Fluff, Hugs, I Tried, I honestly tried writing E/R and like actual romance but it did Not work, Multi, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24555766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlight22oa/pseuds/Moonlight22oa
Summary: Jehan fell at the barricades as a prisoner and a traitor; they came back year after year, life after life, dying each time.But now, in the modern age, something happens that might change their life forever.
Relationships: Bahorel/Feuilly (Les Misérables), Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy/Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Finding The Ones You Lost

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this in a day just for Barricade Day since the other fic I'm writing was taking too long  
> I like reincarnation and I like Jehan so put the two together and you get this.
> 
> (I might have gone a bit wild with the long paragraphs, bare with me)

A year passes in a blur, one after the other, people die and people come into life. But what when someone is born again? They come back, time and time again, to a new life and a new time. A new era is born and they come back. Of what purpose? What have they done to endure such a fate? Well, they have not done anything, but they continue to live. They remember each life and each face and each setting, and yet they do not have peace.

Jean “Jehan” Prouvaire is one of such people. They came to be in the nineteenth century and met an unsatisfying end quick soon after, during a rebellion stirred by the students of Paris. They came back a few years after and lived a cycle of lives, always ending with an untimely demise; they remembered each life and lived with the trauma and guilt and depression that came with it.

Fortunately, as you & I know, a happily ever after must be met, and Jehan will meet the people that will change their everlasting cycle and show them a new lesson-or it could not, as that is not how most of these stories go.

For now we let the story unfold as it goes, in the 21st century with all the progress made in its recent years and where there is the least chance he dies in a war (as has been in the past).

~~~~~

The morning was cold and brisk as Jehan sat in the dewey grass at sunrise; they came there sometimes when everything was too overwhelming and they needed some time alone.

They had a notebook open on their lap and a pen in hand, scribbling things that come to mind and putting together flowery poems about every topic under the sun.

On this particular winter’s day, another person was out and about in the park down the street from their apartment building.

The man approached from a distance, Jehan none the wiser to his presence, until he got close enough to make out his features. His dark, shaggy hair covered by a beanie, his crooked nose that seemed like it had been broken multiple times and his eyes that spoke of great trauma and pain.

He was familiar to Jehan in the way it was when he tried remembering his friends from many lives ago. 

Then it clicked. Years—decades—ago, a revolutionary group from his first life. The group that convinced people to follow and help with their revolution that eventually failed and killed them all; the group that they had been part of.

This man reminded him of that group. Of a cynical drunk, sitting in the corner of a back room listening to passionate speeches and making unwarranted comments to edge on the leader in red. Of talking to said man of his sinful love of another man. Of convincing him that he’s wrong and seeing him off with a smile, unknowing that it’s the last time they would talk before they died as traitors and outlaws.

Grantaire.

He was making his way towards them. Jehan waved at him and gestured for him to take a seat next to them.

“Hey,” He said, sitting on the grass and pulling his beanie down over his hair, “What’re you doing out here so early?”

“I could say the same to you,” They smirked then put on a genuine smile, “I come out here a lot, I can’t sleep and it’s better out here.”

He pulled his knees up to his chest and sighed, “I feel you.”

“I’m Jehan. They/them.”

“Grantaire, he/him.”

And so a new-yet-old friendship started. They acted like old friends, and on some level, they were.

~~~~~

“Jehan, I need help.” Grantaire’s distressed voice sounded through the phone.

He had woken Jehan up at 4 am, seeming to be in deep panic.

They rubbed their eyes sleepily and answered, “What’s up?” 

“Can I come over?” The background noise sounded like he was already outside, near cars and pavement.

“Of course.”

They got out of bed and sat on their threadbare sofa, mindlessly observing the room as they waited for Grantaire to arrive.

The room was covered in memories. Books of poems dated back to decades ago, containing pieces written by them under different names; pictures and paintings of areas they had been at; family and friends smiling at the camera and many more.

They were so lost in their memories they didn’t realise there was a knock at the door for a few seconds.

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK_

They jumped up and opened the door, ushering the near-tears Grantaire into the room and onto the couch.

They pet his hair and hugged him tight, “What’s wrong?”

“I-I had a dream… and it-it felt so _real_ and it scared me and it’s-it’s stupid and I shouldn’t be letting it get to me like this but-” He broke off into a sob and buried his face into Jehan’s shirt.

“Could you tell me what it’s about?” They asked sympathetically, knowing their fair share of realistic dreams.

“I was.. I was asleep in a dark room. There weren’t any- any tables or chairs and I was- was on the floor,” He hiccuped, “And I went up these stairs and there were _bodies_ everywhere, Jehan, and I went up the stairs and there were people and more bodies all bloody and the these guys in national guard uniforms that they show us in school.

“And there was this guy in red by the window and I walked towards him and I said something?? I don’t know what?? And he smiled at me and then these guys all shot us and then I _died_ and I woke up but it feels so realistic like it actually happened and-”

“Grantaire,” Jehan interrupted, “Breath.”

He took a shaky breath and continued, “Yeah. Thanks.”

“So it was a French revolution period dream?”

“Yeah.”

“And everyone was dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know anyone’s names?”

“I... I think so… The man in red… E-something. Enj-Enj..” he shook his head in annoyance, “I don’t know.”

Jehan exhaled through their nose, back in deep thought.

Grantaire was remembering. The June Rebellion in 1832 was their first life; they didn’t remember many smaller details but your first death wasn’t one you forgot easily. Bloody cobblestones, people yelling, gunshots.

“It’ll be okay. I’ve had dreams like those.”

“You have?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. French revolution era. I got caught prisoner and shot on the street in front of a rebel barricade.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. But I’ve had others in that era too. More peaceful ones. Don’t worry.”

“I’m definitely worrying.”

~~~~~

Grantaire kept having dreams. He painted scenes from some of them and showed them to Jehan.

They were beautiful panoramas of filled cafe rooms, familiar faces filling the chairs; barricades built high and people raising flags; blood on cobblestone in the bright daylight.

One day, he burst into their apartment and collapsed onto the couch.

“It’s real.”

Jehan looked up from their book, “What?”

“The dreams. They actually happened. It’s some weird reincarnation shit. I think.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” They asked genuinely.

“Because- because I googled the things I remembered and I found the rebellion. I found my _name_ on the death list.”

They closed the book and pulled him close. “I know.”

“You knew??”

“I have for a while. I’ve been through it before.” 

He searched Jehan’s eyes for any signs of humor but found none.

“What do you mean?”

They sighed, running a hand through their long hair, “It’s not my first time being reincarnated. I can’t count the amount, but it’s a lot.”

“Fuck, how do you _handle_ it?”

“Not very well,” They snorted humorlessly. “But seriously, PTSD and depression and anxiety are things I’ve had over the years.”

“Hot damn, Jehan.” He whistled, “Anyways. Enjolras and Joly and Bossuet and Feuilly and all of the others.. Are they back?”

They shook their head sadly, “I don’t know. I’ve never met any of you a second time.”

“Except me.”

“Except you.”

He sighed and leaned onto Jehan. “This is fucked up.”

“It is.”

~~~~~

The campus library was a strange place. Time seemed to stand still there; tired students searching for resources for their papers and annoyed library workers trying their best to help. The quiet, windowless maze that held an endless amount of knowledge called you forwards and asked you to pick a book and learn.

It was in this place that they met another of their group. 

Jehan was floating through the corridors, running a hand across book spines and contemplating each, sometimes pulling one out and reading the back or a page from the inside.

It was like this they bumped into someone; not for the first time, they normally got distracted and accidentally ran into people in times like these. Like every time, they helped the person up and apologised and were about to go back to what they were doing when the person spoke.

“Jehan?”

They looked up at the person and realised that their face was recognisable. Their glasses confused them for a second because they didn’t have them before but the rest of their features were familiar.

“Combeferre?”

He let out a large breath of relief and smiled at Jehan. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Me neither.” They pulled him into a hug and stood there for a few minutes. Combeferre hesitated before wrapping his arms around them.

“Is it just you?” Jehan whispered.

He shook his head, “Courfeyrac and Enjolras are with me, but they don’t remember.”

“Oh, you poor soul.” 

They stood there for a little longer until Combeferre’s phone vibrated and he pulled away to check it.

“Courf’s asking where I am. I need to go now. I’ll see you later?” 

Combeferre and Jehan exchanged phone numbers and bid each other farewell, their moods lifted more than they were earlier.

~~~~~

Bar fights were a fact of the night; normally instigated by drunk people provoked. So when Grantaire and Jehan walked right onto the scene of a fight, they thought nothing of it and stood aside to wait for it to pass. 

And pass it did. 

It seemed to be between three large men, drunk out of their minds, and throwing racial and homophobic slurs at the two men in front of them. One man was large, he looked like he worked out at the gym frequently and had dark skin, probably the reason for the racial slurs thrown at him. The other man was small and thin; he had light auburn hair and pale skin and slightly feminine features. They were both glaring at the men and scowling.

The men seemed to get bored of just yelling and one of them surged forward to throw the first punch, but got blocked by the larger man who caught his hand and threw him back.

This started a whole surge of punches and kicks and shouting; Jehan and Grantaire stood away and watched it all happen, transfixed by the action.

Finally, the dust cleared and the three men were on the ground and the two opponents standing—mostly—unharmed.

“Fuck yeah!” The redhead pumped his fist with a shout.

The gym guy threw an arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to the redhead’s head. “We showed them!”

Jehan took a sharp inhale as he recognised their faces. “ _Grantaire_. That’s Bahorel and Feuilly.”

He narrowed his eyes at them and then widened them, “They _are”_

“D’you think they remember?” They murmured.

He shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

Bahorel and Feuilly finally noticed them across the street.

“Hey you!” Bahorel yelled, “What’re you doing here?”

Grantaire glanced at Jehan and shrugged, pulling them with him towards them.

“Hey. I’m Grantaire, this is Jehan, we were walking by and we saw you knock out those guys,” He explained quickly.

“I’m Feuilly, this idiot’s Bahorel, nice to meet you,” He smiled at them.

Bahorel shoved him playfully and snorted, “You could just _ask_ them, you know.”

“Ask us what?” Jehan asked.

Feuilly sighed, “Fine. Do you guys remember?”

Grantaire and Jehan made soft sounds of understanding and nodded. “1832?” Jehan questioned.

“Yeah, 1832!”

Jehan poked Grantaire’s side, “And you said they wouldn’t remember.”

“Fuck off,” he snorted.

“So…” Bahorel started, “Do you know if anyone else is back?”

Jehan and Grantaire shared a glance, “I ran into Combeferre the other day, he remembers, and he has Courfeyrac and Enjolras with him but they don’t.”

The four of them stood there talking for a while until the men on the ground started to regain consciousness. They glanced at each other and bolted, laughing the whole way to Bahorel and Feuilly’s apartment.

They fell asleep in their apartment, Jehan leaning on Grantaire and Bahorel and Feuilly wrapped together.

~~~~~

Each time Jehan remembered, it was under different circumstances. Once, they were drafted for World War I and fell unconscious in what was deemed to be fear, but was actually the rush of memories of past lives gone wrong. Another, they were moments away from death at a riot and it all came back right as they bled out on the streets. They lived through eras of death and change. Of unhappy citizens and uncaring leaders. Change did not come as quick as people would hope. They took part in great acts of change that are remembered to this day. And yet, it all took time. White women were given the right to vote, but it took years for black women to have those same rights. Queer rights were debated for years, the greatest riot known was Stonewall in 1969, and yet, it took until the 2000’s for them to start gaining basic human rights. History repeats itself and sometimes not in a good way.

This life, Jehan remembered early on. They were maybe 10 and had heard a gunshot in a faraway alley. The sound caused all the memories to return; screams, guns, yelling, blood, _blood, blood_.

They knew the pain and the fright of having it all come back. That’s why when Combeferre called and said that Courfeyrac was in his room crying, they knew exactly what to do. 

They asked Ferre for his address and hurried out, making it there in about ten minutes and being let in immediately.

Courfeyrac was, as Combeferre said, sobbing heavily.

Jehan was quick in action. They sat down on the bed next to him and quietly asked if they could touch him. Once they had confirmation they pulled him close and murmured reassurances into his ear; you’re not dead, you’re here, it’s all going to be fine.

It took a while, but soon he calmed down enough to form actual sentences. It seemed that unlike Grantaire’s gradual memories, he came at full force. 

Jehan talked about who they had found so far, funny stories from the past that got a small laugh from him, wild conspiracies they had read online about the rebellion and many other things until he fell asleep at Jehan’s side.

Combeferre stood at the doorway and gave Jehan a small thanks, walking closer and sitting at Courfeyrac’s other side.

They pushed Courfeyrac over so his head was on Combeferre’s lap and stood up, saying that they were going to take their leave now.

He nodded absentmindedly as he stroked Courfeyrac’s hair and Jehan took it as their cue to leave.

~~~~~

“Hey are you at my apartment?” Combeferre’s voice crackled through the phone.

“Yeah, why?” Jehan asked.

They had come over to meet the fabled Enjolras and around an hour later, Jehan had received a call from Combeferre, leading to their current situation.

“My partner from class and I are coming over to work on a project, if guys don’t mind?”

“Not at all! It’s your apartment neither Enjolras or I mind.” 

“Thanks, Jehan.” The call ended there and Jehan went back to their conversation with Enjolras about their major.

Soon, the door opened and Combeferre came in, his lab partner trailing behind hesitantly.

“Those are Enjolras and Jehan,” Combeferre nodded towards them, “Guys, this is Joly.”

Joly was a short guy, he had curly black hair and seemed to be eternally worried about something. He was also one of the old members of Les Amis De l’ABC.

Without missing a beat, Jehan grinned and waved, “Hello! I’m Jehan, they/them.”

“He/him,” Joly replied swiftly.

Jehan shot Combeferre a grin, “Oh, I like him.”

“We’ll work in my room, you guys go ahead with what you were doing.” Combeferre waved one last time and ushered Joly into his room.

Enjolras excused himself ten minutes later saying he had to go to the library to finish a paper and left jehan in the living room.

They stayed like that for around twenty more minutes when they heard a strangled gasp come from Combeferre’s room and came to three logical conclusions; 

1) They were fucking

2) Combeferre was murdering Joly

3) Joly was remembering

It was most likely Joly was remembering, but it was fun to think it was murder.

Jehan rushed to the bedroom and threw open the door, finding a peculiar scene in front of him. Joly was kneeled down on the ground and Combeferre looked extremely panicked, holding a book up to his chest. 

“Are you being murdered??” Jehan exclaimed.

Combeferre fake-glared at them, “Nobody is being murdered!”

“Okay, good.” 

“W-what happened?” Joly stuttered out, breathing shakily.

Jehan kneeled down next to him, “You remembered.”

“The-the barricades?”

They nodded and put their arm over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, my friend. We’ll all be fine in the end.”

~~~~~

Joly was already living with Bossuet and Musichetta; he introduced them to the rest of the group the next time they hung out at Jehan’s apartment (deemed the optimal meeting spot for its size and atmosphere).

It seemed that from their triad, only Bossuet had remembered beforehand; Musichetta only remembered when Joly came home after the project meeting with Ferre. 

They met Marius with no excitement as he stumbled into Jehan, accidentally spilled water onto them and revealed he remembered by calling them by their name before they introduced themselves. 

Marius brought Eponine, his girlfriend, and Cosette, his other girlfriend (none of them could believe that Marius could get _two_ people to fall in love with him, but here we are). All of them were aware of the Special Situation™ (as Courfeyrac labeled it) and clicked in easily. 

Finally, Enjolras was the only one not to remember.

Everyone else was on their toes as they observed Enjolras and Grantaire pine and avoid each other. Fights and arguments with underlying hints of fondness and love. Reaching out and pulling back, too scared to go through.

At long last, Jehan pushed Grantaire into admitting his feelings and going through with it.

He approached Enjolras at the end of one of their newly formed Les Amis De l’ABC meetings and asked to speak to him in private, ignoring the stares and grins of their friends as the two left the room.

Grantaire and Enjolras came back blushing heavily and holding hands, much to the joy of their friends, who were whooping and clapping the whole way back to their seats.

~~~~~

Spring was a time of year that the weather was perfect, the grass was green and the flower bloomed beautifully. The wind blew through Jehan’s braided hair as he sat under the tree he first met Grantaire under all those months ago. They thought about how far their life has progressed from there. Their friends were back together again and they lived much happier than any other life. It seems some stories do end with a happy ending.

“Hey Jehan, you coming?” Grantaire called, the rest of their friends were getting up to leave the park as the sun set.

They smiled, looking down at their open poetry notebook. “I’ll be right there.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos would be appreciated!
> 
> And now: notes from the author  
> Can you tell that I had fun writing ramblings? Because I did.  
> The three conclusions Jehan comes to in the Joly remembers scene are the ones I would probably come up with. My original thought was two and they were murder and remembering but then I thought of fucking and just had to.  
> That part where Grantaire takes Enjolras out of the room and then they come back as a couple? There was supposed to be a POV switch but I couldn't write a kissing scene so I just deleted that entire part and didn't switch.  
> The title of this in my doc is 'reincarnation Jehan centric ~~kinda angst~~ much fluff modern au' because I make my titles at the start and have them show what the fic will be like  
> it was gonna be vampires but that was _too_ much angst for me
> 
> That's it for now, thanks for reading my end note rambles!


End file.
